


Heat

by La_Matrona, LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Curvy Hermione Granger, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Post-War, Smut, That Eventually Resolves, Threesome - F/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 05:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30050781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Matrona/pseuds/La_Matrona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: A chance meeting with two men Hermione thought she would never see again brings with it a host of complications, connections, and a future she never envisioned.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a new project co-authored by La_Matrona and LumosLyra! We are so incredibly excited to be writing this piece together and so far, the muse has been here for it. Updates will not follow a specific schedule but we have a small bank of chapters built up. Tags will be updated as we go! Expect a significant number of kinks to show up as the story builds. Chapter count is an estimation and may shift a bit. 
> 
> Love and thanks to the wonderful Ada_Lovelaced for their alpha/beta skills.

Though she packed her cargo with more care than usual, her heart still still skips a beat when a dowdy old witch in a bright blue robe jostles it as she shoves her way into the lift. The paper package floats before her, her hands poised to catch if it need be but it still slips from her grip. 

“Careful,” Neville—who has never really been a dexterous sort of person—reaches out to steady the parcel. Unfortunately, he only manages to knock it further askew instead, nearly sending it to the floor and giving Hermione what she feels quite sure is a major arrhythmia. 

“Drat,” Sweat beads at her temples as she manages to steady the thing and shift it further into the corner of the little space, turning so she can shield the delicate object in her hands from any further interference. 

“Sorry, I thought I had it.” Neville sounds miserable, so Hermione gives him a small smile. She hopes it’s reassuring, but honestly it feels more like a grimace. It’s been tense between them lately, though she’s wholly unsure as to the reason, and it makes her wonder if their relationship will last much longer. Part of her hopes, but a small part of her still wonders. He’s kind and quiet, but if she’s honest with herself—which she usually is—it feels like something is missing. 

A spark—passion, maybe. 

“It’s fine, really,” she draws her wand, waving it in a small circle over the package and sighing with relief when the diagnostic appears as stable. She can’t imagine what would have happened had it activated. Well, she can, but she really doesn’t want to. 

Even the thought of entrails makes her queasy.

The lift stops twice before it reaches her floor, and as she disembarks, Neville clears a path for her. When the doors close behind her, she breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Alright there?” Neville sounds less anxious now that they’re on solid ground, and it makes her smile. 

“All good. This will just take a few minutes and we’ll be back down in the Alley in a jiff.” She eyes the doors at the end of the hall and gauges the distance, cataloguing any dangers between where she is standing and her destination, concluding the most clear and present danger posed to the dark artefact she is transporting is... her boyfriend. 

“Er, would you mind waiting here for me?” Neville doesn’t even blink before nodding, and she gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks. Be right back.” 

She’s nearly made it to the double doors when they swing open simultaneously, missing her by centimeters and sending her heart into her throat. She narrowly avoids being hit, and the parcel jerks in her hands. A metal clanging sound within makes her wince and she braces herself for the artefact to activate, but after a sharp inhale and slow exhale, everything seems in order. 

“All right?” The voice addressing her is deep and familiar and it’s accompanied by another.

“I’ve told you to watch it with the swinging doors, mate. You’re bound to clobber someone eventually.” This voice too is wildly familiar, with a touch of rasp that makes her skin prickle.

Suddenly, she’s not sure she should look up. A tangled mass seems to form in her belly and she feels her cheeks beginning to warm. She keeps her eyes focused on the brown paper package in her hands, willing herself to appear as small and inconspicuous as possible. Is it too much to hope they’ll just move on and ignore her presence?

“Miss?” It’s the first voice again, and now she’s certain she knows it. She’d been intimately acquainted with it for years that the exact timbre is seared into her cochleas as much as the cadence and tone are burned into her memories. 

Her pulse begins to race as she swallows and looks up. Merlin, she wishes she hadn’t.

It almost hurts to look at them—not that there's anything wrong with the way they look. No, they’re both still handsome as ever and… broader than she remembers, honestly. Taller too, like they’ve both had growth spurts since she’s seen them last. But their eyes are still the same. Like gems, the both of them—emeralds and sapphires. 

“Hermione?” Harry speaks first, and something in her chest aches as she watches the recognition dawn across his face. 

“Bloody hell,” says Ron, and as his gaze finally meets hers he grins. “Hermione!” There’s a crinkling at the corner of his eyes so familiar, her breath nearly catches, but she doesn’t have time to linger on it before there’s a shuffling noise behind her and a warm hand settles on her shoulder. Her fingers curl around the parcel, knuckles turning white with the force of her grip as her body flits between fight or flight.

“Are you okay?” It’s Neville who has vacated his position near the lifts. The warmth of his tone, full of concern, wraps around her like a blanket, and she’s reminded why she’s with him—he’s safe. 

Hermione swallows, forcing herself to drag her gaze from the men in front of her to glance at Neville, “Perfectly fine, thanks.” 

Something in the air shifts, and if it weren’t for the prickling at the base of her spine she could have easily missed it. 

“Neville,” Ron’s voice drops, the happy note it had held at her name now completely gone as he addresses his former classmate. 

There’s an awkward pause as Neville’s hand tenses on her shoulder before he inhales deeply and drops it to his side, “Ron.” 

“Hello,” Harry too sounds gruff now, and Hermione’s gaze snaps back toward him. There’s a five o’clock shadow along his jaw and cheeks, and it makes him look somehow harder than she remembers. The change is jarring. 

Neville clears his throat before he responds, “Harry. Good to see you again.” 

“Is it?” Ron’s voice is mild, but his question is so beyond the pale, Hermione’s eyes widen as she faces him. 

“Ronald!” The word slips from her mouth before she can stop it, a call back to days spent next to him at the breakfast table, in the library, and the common room where conversation flowed as freely as bossing him about.

At the sound of his name his eyes dart back to hers, and something flips low in her belly again. It’s a disconcerting sensation. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment to will it away before looking back at Harry. 

“You look well,” she forces herself to say. It’s the truth, after all—time  _ has _ treated him well. Apart from the apparent growth spurt and the five o’clock shadow, his face carries the same boyish charm it always has, messy hair still askew and glasses perched on his nose. She wonders, without intending to, whether he would draw the same conclusion about her. Adulthood has brought her thick thighs, a soft belly and far too much bosom. She’s far removed from how she looked immediately following the war—emaciated, haggard, and barely holding herself together—and she knows it. She’s certain the differences in her physical appearance between then and now are disconcerting, but she’s come to terms with it. 

“So do you,” says Ron before Harry has a chance to respond, and Hermione hopes that the flush she can feel creeping up her neck isn’t visible. She won’t acknowledge that he too has grown more handsome. She doesn’t think he needs the ego boost, and she doubts very seriously  _ that _ part of her former friend has changed, even if he has grown an impressive beard and a body she can hardly keep herself from admiring. 

“How have you—“

“We should—“

Harry and Ron speak at the same time, and she misses the last part of their sentences, watching as they exchange sheepish glances. Luckily, Neville says something directly after, and she’s reminded of the parcel in her hands, meant to be delivered nearly two minutes ago. 

“It’s getting late, Hermione. We should—” Neville’s cheeks are pink and he dabs at his brow as he gives her a tight smile.

“Go, yes,” she affirms, eyes darting towards the door at the end of the hall. “I need to drop this off at the office and then Neville and I are due to visit his gran.” 

Neither Harry nor Ron look as if they believe her, but unfortunately, it’s the truth and she’s not certain which is worse, remaining in this awkward encounter in an obscure Ministry hallway or visiting Augusta Longbottom over tea. 

“Is that so?” Ron’s question is directed at Neville again, gaze harder than expected as his ears turn red. His reaction confuses her, but then again, nothing about this entire encounter has been within the scope of ordinary. 

“Ron.” The word is a warning, and Harry places a hand on his friend’s shoulder before smiling at Hermione and turning his own gaze on Neville. He’s still smiling, but all the warmth has left his eyes, leaving his gaze cold. “If they have an appointment, they have an appointment.” 

“We do,” Hermione snips. 

She’s not exactly sure why she’s upset but she can feel herself growing stiff as she takes a half step closer to Neville. The air is thick with tension and she can’t make heads or tails of why things are so strained between Harry, Ron and Neville. She understands why  _ she _ feels so out of place after everything that happened between the three of them, but she’s never confided in Neville exactly what caused their falling out. A distinct feeling of unease settles over her as she looks between the three wizards, all displaying false smiles and tight brows. 

“Actually,” says Neville, who looks at the ceiling and clenches his hands behind his back, “Gran’s been asking me to restock her potions supplies. I should probably run back to the castle and fetch them.”

Hermione pales. “Nev—“

“You do that, Longbottom,” Ron cuts in, a near sinister glint in his eye, “Wouldn’t want you to disappoint her.”

“You can probably make it before dusk if you hurry,” Harry adds, and she swears his back straightens an inch.

Hermione watches, gobsmacked, as her boyfriend turns without another word to head back toward the lift. 

“Neville!” She cries, turning toward him, shifting the package in her hands to the crook of her arm, and balancing it against her hip. He can’t possibly mean to just  _ leave  _ her there—with  _ them _ . 

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at her with furrowed brows before he seems to look past her to the men standing at her back. 

“We’ll talk later, I’ll make your excuses to Gran,” he says, turning and fleeing before she can say another word. He takes the stairs rather than waiting for the lift, and she’s left standing in place, utterly perplexed by the actions of the man who’s stood by her side under much graver circumstances. 

“What in the world…” 

“Who knew Neville’d grow up to be such a tosser.” Ron sounds amused behind her, and Hermione turns with narrowed eyes to glare at him, but before she can say a word, Harry speaks. 

“It’s been too long,” he says, taking a step toward her. As he moves, she can feel the air shifting around her, can sense the old familiar energy she’s always associated with her boys—with Harry and Ron—swirling around her. It’s wholly familiar and wholly disconcerting after so long without it. 

Instinctively, she takes a step back, putting the distance back between them as best she can, the tension in the air heightening once more. Harry stops his advance as soon as she does, and though his mouth tightens at the corners, he stays still. 

“Look,” says Ron coming to stand beside Harry, his amusement fading to consideration, as if he’s having to seek the words he wants to say from deep within his mind. “I’m sorry. It’s just… Harry’s right. It’s been so long. I wasn’t prepared for—“ He closes his mouth so abruptly that it looks like it hurts. 

“For what?” Hermione asks, the box in her arms shifting again, her arms curling around it as if it were able to shield her from the quiet hurt she can see lining their eyes. It’s mixed with something else, something intangible she can’t quite read as her throat bobs in another hard swallow.

They don’t step toward her, but Hermione can feel it as they lean in, both of them focused so intently on her that her pulse flutters and she has the mad thought that this must be what the mice in her flat feel like right before Crookshanks pounces. 

Before either of the men can answer, there’s a subtle glow and a low beep that catches her attention. It’s coming from them, she realizes, the badges pinned to the chests of their crimson uniforms. There’s another pulse of light and a louder tone, not unlike a siren, in the space of a breath before the significance of the alarm registers. 

“Shit,” says Ron, glancing down at the badge and then over at Harry, “Motherfucker.”

Hermione’s eyes widen at the curse and Harry sighs heavily, a pained look crossing his features before he meets her gaze again. 

“We have to go,” he says, his voice gentle as he dares another step in her direction. This time she doesn’t move, though she can’t explain why. “But we aren’t done, Hermione.” 

“Not nearly done,” echoes Ron as he silences the alarm on his badge before reaching over and doing the same for Harry, the corridor growing silent once more. 

“I’m going to owl you when we’re off work, yeah?” 

Hermione stares at the both of them, bewildered as they continue to approach, until they are each within arms length, towering over her and making her feel delicate by comparison. It’s a new feeling and where Neville is equally tall and broad, she can’t remember a time she’s felt quite like this—not intimidated certainly, but something she’s not quite sure has a name.

“You’re going to… owl me?” 

Ron grins at Harry, “She understands, mate. Always was the bright one, our Hermione.” And then he looks back at her, his blue eyes hot with something unidentifiable that makes her blood run hot as he leans down and brushes his lips against her cheek in a quick kiss before retreating. “And you’ll write back to us, won’t you?”

The scent of him overwhelms her—musk and spice and greenery all wrapped together and fermented into something utterly intoxicating. It fills her senses in such a way that she knows she will be unable to forget it, let alone stop herself from craving it. 

“I w-will?” she stammers, breath catching in her lungs. 

“I hope so,” says Harry, his voice thick and rasping as he leans down to give her a peck on the cheek. 

_ Merlin _ , he smells just as heavenly as Ron—equally compelling and enticing and marvelous. Woodsmoke and leather and that same musky scent she’d recognized before. It makes her head swim in the loveliest way, keeps her riveted to the spot… to the thought of them. 

The moment is broken, however, when a door at the end of the corridor opens and a small wizard with bright green hair pokes his head out. “Ah! Miss Granger. There you are. Late, of course, but I see that can’t be helped.” Her eyes are drawn away from Harry and Ron to the small wizard in the patchwork robes, impatiently glancing between her and the clock on the wall. She gives him a nod when he taps his watch before ducking back inside. 

“I have to go,” she says, eyes darting to the parcel in her hands, voice unsteady as she takes one last look at the pair of them. “It… it was good to see you.” 

She turns on her heel and leaves Harry and Ron in the corridor, their badges sounding once more as her feet carry her away, each step somehow harder to take than the last, until the door shuts behind her.

She takes a moment to herself, leaning against the doorframe, parcel clutched against her chest, finally feeling like she can breathe. 


End file.
